


a place we can begin

by polyommatusblues



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Bad Puns, Fluff, I have no idea how this happened, M/M, So much fluff it's disgusting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but it happened, that's tony and stephen's entire relationship tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyommatusblues/pseuds/polyommatusblues
Summary: “Tony, there is no way in heaven, hell, or anywhere between that I am wearing that.”Or, how Stephen Strange found himself wearing a red velvet suit, sipping a Cosmopolitan, and dancing with Tony Stark. ToU2, of all things.





	a place we can begin

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this plot, we’re going to pretend Don Cheadle isn’t four inches shorter than Benedict Cumberbatch. Artistic license, right? If Marvel can put RDJ in _literal high heels_ to make him seem taller, I can do the same with Don. Or make Ben shorter. Either way.
> 
> Also, the U2 song that’s somehow made its way into this fic is on my personal Ironstrange playlist titled, aptly, “IRONSTRANGE AF.” (If you have Spotify, the link is [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1229603952/playlist/2UE7RdjX0O3VwMSCo3nn9Z?si=goWBU1S-TGerDkhhcS31Sg)!)
> 
> Anyway, here’s a little idea that started tugging at me. I don’t know how I fell flat on my ass in the Ironstrange ship, but what the hell, I’m going to make the most of it. Enjoy!

“Tony, there is no way in heaven, hell, or anywhere between that I am wearing that.”

“Pleeease?” Stephen quirks an eyebrow. Tony holds up the deep red velvet suit and wiggles it a little as if that will change Stephen’s mind. “It’s _Armani_ , Strange. Never been worn. And will look great with your eyes, might I add.”

Stephen sighs. The Cloak of Levitation around him sinks, and Stephen can practically feel it brooding. Jealous brat. How he has found himself in Tony Stark’s kitchen at six p.m. is probably one of the greatest mysteries of his life—and Stephen Strange has seen some pretty mysterious stuff.

“Why do you have to go to this gala anyway? The Natural History Museum doesn’t really seem to be your… thing.”

If Stephen didn’t know any better, he’d call Tony’s smile a little embarrassed. “Yeah well, I may or may not have donated a little money so they can develop a better space show than that Neil deGrasse Tyson thing they’ve been playing since the dawn of time… and the chairman of the board may or may not have made a house call a couple weeks ago personally inviting me to this shin-dig.”

“How much money did you donate, exactly?”

“…ten million dollars.”

He can’t help it—Stephen laughs. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Tony deadpans. “Riding a giant space donut to galaxies unknown can give a guy a little higher standards. _Now_ back to the matter at hand. You and Rhodey are about the same size, right, so it’ll fit you fine. And I know that if you go back to Hogwarts now you’re just gonna sit around all night with Wong sipping tea and reading books that look like you got them off the discount shelf at Goodwill.”

“Those books are ancient—” Stephen starts, but Tony cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Yeah yeah, ancient tomes, I know. Now go put this thing on and come with me! It’s not _my_ fault Rhodey cancelled on me at the last minute.”

“Your inflection makes it seem like instead it is my fault, which we both know to be untrue,” Stephen says. “I was enjoying my night before you called me insisting that there was an emergency.”

“Strange, this _is_ an emergency. I don’t think you understand how many people are gonna sidle up and try to hold my attention if I don’t have anyone at this gala with me. And when’s the last time you got out of that dusty place, anyway?”

Stephen sighs again. The last time he got out of that place was… months ago. Tony knows this, and he knows exactly what to say to break Stephen’s resolve.

The truth is, emergency or not, he was a little relieved when Tony called begging him to come to the tower. Wong was engrossed in some book about rare curses and how to reverse them, and so long spent with no contact with other people was starting to make Stephen restless.

Besides, being with Tony is… different. He hates it and craves it, and hates that he craves it. It’s a special kind of agony Stephen’s used to by now, in more ways than one.

Everyone was taking the end of the world and subsequent _un-_ end of the world differently. Six months had passed, but nothing had or would ever return to the way it was. The last he heard, Steve and Bucky settled down in a brownstone in Brooklyn, Natasha was in the wind, Tony spent hours upon hours in his workshop tinkering with different machines, never suits—

And Stephen cut himself off from all other human beings.

Unless they came to him, Stephen rarely saw anyone except Wong. He’d been determined to keep it that way. Tony occasionally came to the Sanctum, and strangely, his company was never unwelcome. He feels a weird connection to Tony after… everything, and he knows Tony feels the same.

If nothing else, Tony would sit around and make smalltalk with Wong, who was getting a little tired of Stephen’s reclusiveness, and Stephen would listen to Tony’s smooth voice through his bedroom wall.

Fourteen million timelines and Stephen still isn’t sure if this was the best of them. Yes, they got everyone back, but he knows that Tony is going to have nightmares of Peter dying in his arms for the rest of his life. Stephen knows that _he_ is going to have nightmares of Tony dying in his arms for the rest of his life, because he saw it happen, almost fourteen million times.

But then, another timeline might not see them like this. Another timeline might not even give Stephen the _option_ to waltz into an overcrowded museum wearing a ridiculous suit with Tony by his side.

Maybe getting out of the Sanctum is worth it if that’s more time to spend like this.

Still—“You know, getting out more doesn’t have to mean attending a black-tie with a hundred other rich assholes.”

Tony held a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Since I’m the only one here who’s rich, I’m taking that as an insult,” he said.

“If the shoe fits,” Stephen said, grinning.

“Oh never mind that. Come with meeee,” Tony whines. “Going alone might _kill me_.”

“Would that be so bad?” Stephen says under his breath.

“Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t miss me, Penn and Teller.”

“Tony, that’s two people.”

Tony blows him a kiss, and it definitely does _not_ make butterflies swarm in Stephen’s stomach. “The cloak can be Teller. Penn fits the whole tall, dark, and broody aesthetic you’ve got going on all the time.”

The Cloak swats Tony across the face before floating back down around Stephen. Honestly, he’s proud of the Cloak for not taking Tony’s bullshit.

Stephen’s never going to admit to the fluttery feeling spreading through his chest. But the thing is, he’d be content to just do this all night, really. Stephen imagines the two of them dressed in pajamas, stretching out on Tony’s couch critiquing bad action movies and ribbing each other.

Stephen imagines himself leaning in, imagines Tony kissing him.

Struck by the image, Stephen shakes himself out of the fantasy. “So the reason you can’t take Pepper or Steve to this is…?”

Tony shoots him an exasperated look. “If I take Pepper the paps would swamp us, and I’m a little afraid of the Winter Watchdog getting all territorial if I ask Steve.” He smirks. “Besides, you’re already here.”

“Yes, because I thought perhaps this time it was giant space _crickets_ that were trying to destroy New York.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop being dramatic and put on the suit. Cloakie’ll be fine here for a few hours, right? Keep F.R.I.D.A.Y. company. Like a playdate. Pleeease, Stephen?”

The Cloak tightens around him and Stephen sighs— _again_. He does that a lot around Tony, come to think of it, but he’d be lying to say he really minds it. In the months after Thanos, even though they didn’t spend too much time together (you know, with Stephen trying his best to fall off the face of the Earth and whatnot), but it was certainly more time than he spent with anyone else.

He and Tony had formed a slightly begrudging friendship after Titan. When Stephen and the others came back, he and Tony had a very lengthy discussion (if “discussion” means Tony just yelling at him) about why it had been imperative for Stephen to give up the Time Stone to save Tony’s life.

 _“You said you’d sacrifice me to hold onto that thing,”_ Tony had said. _“And I goddamn wish you had.”_

Stephen remembers the overwhelming urge to cry that spread through his body at that, because what was he supposed to say? But two weeks later Tony to showed up at the Sanctum with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and a huge bag of M&Ms, and they had sat cross-legged on Stephen’s bed with the candy between them, passing the bottle back and forth.

That conversation was significantly less two-sided. Stephen had told Tony (as little as possible) about what he saw in those alternate timelines, and Tony had listened. And Tony had said okay.

Remembering this—and the times Tony yanked him out of his bedroom to play cards with him and Wong—Stephen surrenders. “Fine, fine,” he says, holding up his hands in defeat. “But I get to pick my own bowtie.”

Tony claps his hands. “Yay! Now come on, Magic Johnson, bedroom’s down here.”

Tony leads him down a hallway into the master bedroom, and fleetingly (guiltily) Stephen pretends Tony is leading him this way for a much different purpose. Tony pulls out a drawer lined with bowties in a plethora of colors and prints, and Stephen shakes off déjà vu, picturing watches in place of the ties.

“Pick your weapon,” Tony says. The Cloak taps one in the very far corner, solid black. It’s the one Stephen would have picked as well. He grabs it. “Boooring,” Tony drawls.

Stephen shakes his head. “If the Cloak is getting left at home, the least I can do is take his suggestion.”

Rolling his eyes about to the back of his head, Tony pushes Stephen out of the bedroom. “Go go go, the guest bed’s three down to the right. There’s a bathroom there too, so you can shape up that beard of yours. We can’t be cool facial hair bros if your facial hair isn’t _cool_.”

Stephen laughs and goes down to the bedroom, which is naturally larger than any guest bedroom he’s ever seen. There’s one closet full of men’s clothes and shoes in all different sizes, another of women’s. All designer, because _of course_.

Not even bothering to portal home (what dress clothes does he even have, anymore?), he picks out a white button-down and a pair of black loafers, laying them on the bed by the suit before fixing up in the bathroom.

Shaving is a lot easier when he’s not using a straight razor and the cheap shaving cream he steals from Wong. Then, it takes him half an hour at least to touch up, longer depending on how shaky his hands are. With the razor in here, Stephen gets it done in five.

Stephen steps out of the bathroom and looks in the full-length mirror between the closets. He takes a moment to tie his bowtie and smoothen his lapels. Tony was right; the suit does fit him well. It’s slightly roomy in the legs—Stephen’s a little leaner—but the tailoring can easily pass. To top it off, the color isn’t that far off from the cloak, so despite the suit’s extravagance Stephen doesn’t feel too out of place.

Emerging from the guest bedroom, Stephen walks down hall to Tony’s bathroom. The door is open, so Stephen spends a minute watching Tony painstakingly groom his beard. When Tony’s finished, Stephen raps outside the bathroom twice before walking in. “The Cloak is resting in the guest bedroom, so I hope you’re not expecting anyone tonight or they’re going to get a pretty weird surprise.”

When Tony turns around, Stephen’s breath catches. He looks exquisite, all polished and confident. Tony’s suit is dark navy. He’s also wearing a white shirt, but his tie is the same deep red as Stephen’s suit, adorned with navy dots. Stephen realizes with a blush that their outfits probably look very sharp together—and there’s no way that’s a random coincidence.

Tony looks Stephen up and down. “Look at that, fits fine!” Then he frowns. “God, did you even try to put this on straight?” He reaches up to adjust Stephen’s bowtie. Yes, Stephen had tried to put it on straight, but he’s not going to complain when Tony’s hands are almost brushing his neck. Stephen hopes his still-there blush isn’t as visible as it feels.

“Did you fix it, Mr. Spirit Level?”

“ _Better_ ,” Tony says, stepping back. “Call me if Hogwarts needs some pictures hung.”

Tony has an etagere holding a decanter and a few framed pictures, but on the middle shelf just lies a pair of cufflinks and a watch in a little porcelain tray. Tony owns everything in excess, but Stephen thinks he must still have a favorite of each.

They walk back into the kitchen, and Tony puts on his watch and attaches his cufflinks.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., keep Cloakie company, won’t ya?”

Stephen’s probably never going to get used to Tony having conversations with a ceiling.

“I’m not so sure my presence would be welcome, boss.”

“Oh well, try to pull him out of his shell some. It’ll be like a bad romance movie.”

Stephen chuffs. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Stephen knows Tony drives just about everywhere, and he’s not too keen on getting in any kind of car. After the accident, the few times he had to take one when he couldn’t just portal himself places made him jumpy and ill.

“Got anywhere we can zippity-doo-da to and walk, Doc?” Tony asks.

How he caught onto that may be another great mystery of Stephen’s life. A little more than surprised, Stephen has to compose himself before smiling at Tony and drawing a portal. “I can think of a place.”

Contrary to popular belief, New York is not so big that no isolated areas exist. Stephen found this out a while ago walking through some denser woods around Central Park. He’s drawn portals to and from there multiple times, and never once has he had an unwelcome audience.

Luckily, the space on the Central Park West edge. Stephen counts his lucky stars as they step through.

“Well this is a handy little place,” Tony says, and they start walking. The ground is dry so their shoes don’t get muddy, and Stephen thinks he’s turning out to be real lucky tonight.

Up the stairs and through the metal detectors, when they walk into the museum, Stephen is immediately enchanted.

“I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” he whispers. They make their way up to the Whale Room where the gala is being held, and everything there larger than life. Stephen feels small in a way that doesn’t scare him. A huge replica of a blue whale hangs heavy overhead, seeming to stretch across the whole room. It’s almost comforting, for once, to be dwarfed by a creature who so desperately wants nothing more than to be left alone.

Tony chuckles. “Yeah well, it’s a lot nicer without all the drunk socialites who can’t tell a fossil from their grandma’s dentures. Come on.” He leads him to a bar tucked into the far side of the room. “Whatcha having, Doc?”

“Surprise me,” Stephen says, and immediately regrets it.

“Yo, bartender! I’ll have a Crown & water on the rocks, and my friend here will take a Cosmo.” Stephen swears the bartender smirks at him, then turns back to fix their drinks.

“Did you really just—”

“Yes, and you’re gonna love it. Those preppy soccer moms know how to unwind, I’m telling you.”

Stephen leans against the bar and takes a long look around the room. Tables and chairs are set up around an open floor currently full of people standing around dancing. There’s a song Stephen doesn’t recognize playing, and he’s not surprised when Tony turns to him with their drinks, singing along in a rather annoying, high-pitched voice.

“I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it!”

Stephen throws his head back, accepting the ridiculously pink cocktail while Tony sips his whisky. “What _is_ this song?”

“You’ve never heard of Lorde?!” Tony asks. “Where have you been for the past year, under a rock?”

“Well…” Stephen says, and Tony shoots him a look.

“Okay Magic Mike, point taken. But _still._ We gotta get you caught up with modern music, dude.”

Before Stephen can reply, an older man comes up to them and holds out his hand. “Tony Stark, glad you could make it!”

Tony shakes his hand. “Lewis Bernard, I am too. Lovely decorations you’ve got here,” Tony says, motioning to the giant whale.

“At least that’s one ‘decoration’ the interns won’t have to take down. Lucky for them!” Lewis laughs, so high-energy Stephen thinks it may cause the room to burst.

Tony claps a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “Lewis, I would like for you to meet Dr. Stephen Strange.”

“A pleasure,” Stephen says, willing his trembling, outstretched hand to stay still, just for a second.

Unfazed, Lewis shakes Stephen’s hand enthusiastically. “Dr. Strange, lovely to meet you! Lewis Bernard, chairman of the Board of Trustees here at the museum.” Stephen smiles, imagining this man getting buzzed up to Tony’s penthouse at Stark Tower just to hand deliver an invite.

Tony and Lewis chat idly for a few minutes, during which time Stephen steals Tony’s drink and continues to take in his surroundings.

Other people come and go as he and Tony hang around the bar, and Tony introduces Stephen to each one of them. Stephen gets a few weird looks (mainly by the women) but after his second whisky he’s feeling light and carefree.

At some point, Tony has mindlessly started drinking Stephen’s Cosmo, only realizing his mistake when Stephen erupts into giggles.

“Karma, Tony.”

Tony slides the pink drink back to the other side of the bar. “Oh, is _that_ what they teach you in wizarding school?”

Stephen swats at Tony’s shoulder with a napkin. “No, they teach us curses to ward off douchebags like you.”

Tony grins cheekily. “Do your worst, babe.” Before Stephen’s heart can skip a beat at the pet name, two women in cocktail dresses come up to Stark, gushing over something or another. Stephen tunes them out, still overwhelmed by the enormity of the room, until he hears Stark tell the women he’s got something to do. Thinking they’re about to leave (and not exactly ready to leave, surprisingly), Stephen refocuses on Tony.

“Sorry ladies, duty calls!” When they walk away, Tony turns to Stephen and grins, all teeth. “Come on Stranger Danger, I love this song.”

Tony grabs Stephen’s left hand with both of his own, tugging him towards the middle of the room. It’s already filled with other couples dancing, so the pair of them fit right in. Helpless, Stephen lets himself be pulled to the dance floor and properly positioned.

Stephen’s hand shakes in front of them where their hands are clasped, but Tony runs his thumb down Stephen’s wrist and the rest of the world falls away. Tony brings his hand up to rest of Stephen’s shoulder blade, Steven’s at Tony’s waist.

“You really want me to lead?” Stephen asks.

Tony shrugs. “Someone has to, right?”

This time, Stephen actually recognizes the song that’s playing. He went through an unfortunate U2 phase back when it was them and Whitney Houston against the world, so he’s got a soft spot for cheesy rock ballads.

(God forbid Wong ever finding out. The teasing would be _endless_.)

The song plays on as he and Tony start a slow box step. Stephen can tell that Tony’s not much for dancing—probably why he let Stephen lead—but their bodies move well together and Stephen cannot shake the feeling of rightness.

“ _I can’t live… with or without you._ ”

He knows it shouldn’t, but right then Stephen realizes something that shocks him: This feels normal. It’s 2018 and this feels normal, because Stephen Strange is dancing with Tony Stark in a room both full of people and empty except them two, and it feels _normal_.

Stephen is halfway afraid he’s going to wake up in another dimension or be slingshotted to another timeline, but no. The only timeline that matters is the one they’re living in. And Stephen thinks the one they’re living in is pretty okay.

As if reading his mind, Tony looks up at Steven and opens his mouth hesitantly. “What’d you see in those other timelines, anyway? Just tell me one thing. One thing, and I’ll never ask you to talk about it again.”

Stephen presses his right hand a little flatter against Tony’s lower back. The shaking in his hands is getting a little worse, and he feels Tony’s grip his left hand tighter, a solid force. They spend a few moments just swaying, Tony’s face almost tucked into Stephen’s shoulder, and Stephen thinks, _I saw this. Fourteen million timelines and I remember seeing this._

“You,” he finally says. Tony pulls his head back to look Stephen in the eye.

“Well that’s a cop-out answer.”

Stephen grins, happy Tony lightened the mood. Tony has a way of doing that when he actually wants to, Stephen notes. He knows what to do to make tension comfortable.

“I saw what’s happening right now.” Tony raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Stephen takes a deep breath. “I watched you die more times than I will ever be able to count. Sometimes I _let you_ die.” Stephen feels a jolt of guilt at the pained look that passes over Tony’s face. He’s told Tony before, right after they all returned, but it never gets easier to say.

“I never looked this far ahead,” Stephen admits. “But a quarter of a million timelines in, I saw myself—this self—fall in love with you.”

Tony stills completely, and Stephen flushes red. He pulls away from Tony but grabs his hand, leading him to the bar like Tony had led him to the floor. If they’re having this conversation now, they’re having it with drinks.

Hands still shaking, Stephen taps the bar and orders two martinis.

They’re quiet until the bartender slides their drinks over, and Stephen immediately takes a sip.

“I cannot begin to explain the selflessness I saw in you over and over again. I saw you give your life for Peter, for—for me. Titan was an unforgiving wasteland but it never dulled you, not in this timeline or any others.”

“You know what did—” Tony begins, a slight edge to his voice, but Stephen stops him, softly.

“I know, and I will never stop being sorry for the pain that caused you. But I’m not sorry for keeping you alive.” Stephen has to look away to say the next part. If he says it to Tony’s face, it’s all over. Tony will see how far gone he is, and the pity will be unbearable. “You were the key; you know that,” he says. Softly, he continues, “And then… I saw myself in so many timelines without you. I am a selfish man, and I was not willing to live in one of those timelines for the rest of my life.”

 _There’s no better way to explain this_ , Stephen thinks, feeling weak enough that he could nearly return to dust. _This is the only way._

Refocusing on the present, it doesn’t slip his notice that Tony has not touched his martini, nor has he made a sound this whole time. Stephen finishes his own drink in one sip, olive ignored, before he speaks.

“Tony, I got to know you in a way that was entirely unfair, and I do not expect you to—”

“What if I want to?” Tony asks suddenly.

Stephen turns confused and embarrassed, and the feeling makes his ears burn. “Want to?”

“God, Stephen, why do you think I asked you here?” Tony looks positively incredulous, setting his glass down on the bar. “You think you were a fallback option because I didn’t want to take Pepper? Tell me Doc, when have I ever been afraid of the paparazzi? I mean, really.”

“Um…” Stephen says, lost for words.

“Let me get to know you better. Jesus, forget tacks—you’re sharp as a carving knife, and no one else on Earth or beyond can keep me on my toes like you do. There’s this whole realm of spooky spiritual stuff that I don’t understand—enjoy this, because I’m never admitting that again—but you own that knowledge.”

Stephen is still kind of gaping at him, unsure how to proceed. Tony chuffs. “You know, I’d be a little more proud of rendering you speechless if I wasn’t scared shitless of you turning me down right now.”

“Go to dinner with me,” Stephen blurts, words and confidence finally coming back to him, maybe with a little snark. “Tomorrow night.” He smiles, and Tony mirrors it back to him.

“Stephen Strange, are you finally offering to take me on a date?”

“Well, it seems you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, seeing as how I’ve known you for fourteen million lifetimes and you’re working on… one?”

Tony actually has the audacity to smirk, the cheeky dork. “I think you dying and coming back should count for two, Mr. Let’s-Almost-Give-Tony-a-Heart-Attack.”

“Tony, that’s a mouthful. And it’s _Doctor_ , thank you.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” There’s a playful glint in Tony’s eyes that Stephen thinks he could spend a billion lifetimes looking at and would still be amazed.

Stephen places a hand on Tony’s jaw, leaning in. “Fine. That’s thirteen million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety- _eight_ to go.”

“Hmm, better get started quick,” Tony says, and kisses him for the very first time.


End file.
